


Turnip For What

by imalright



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, References to Child Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, felix "i don't live for the dead" fraldarius we all know you're full of it, i spent my entire sunday writing a 3.8k word shitpost hbu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imalright/pseuds/imalright
Summary: “I hate him,” he mutters. For some reason Glenn laughs and that fills him with an indescribable anger. “I hate him!!!”“I know, little dude! He sucks!” He squishes up Felix’s cheek which he hates. “Fuck ‘im, am I right? Fuck ‘im!”“Fuck ‘im!”“Yeah, fuck ‘im!”“FUCK ‘IM!”The first words Felix's soulmate ever says to him are quite rude. Glenn encourages revenge.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 38
Kudos: 431
Collections: Sylvix Squad Super Stories





	Turnip For What

**Author's Note:**

> warning: there are references to child abuse in this fic. they are brief and vague. take care!

The day Felix meets his soulmate is, in his six-year-old vocabulary, fucking shitty.

“What the hell?!” Glenn snaps at Miklan’s shithead little brother, “Do you talk to everyone like that? You made him cry!”

There’s something stupid and satisfied in Miklan’s face. Dawning shock and horror on his father’s. The Margrave himself is speechless.

Felix notices none of this, because Felix is crying.

“Come on, little dude,” Glenn says in a voice he reserves for Felix’s most fragile moments. He gathers him up in his arms and Felix allows himself to be lifted and carried away. “That was a shitty thing to say. It wasn’t okay. Come on, let’s go calm down somewhere else.”

Glenn takes him to a dark, soft room he recognizes as his own bedroom and Felix cries. His nose runs, his face is wet, his throat hurts, and he hurts. They sit together forever before Glenn speaks.

“Are you feeling better, bud?” he asks and, when Felix shakes his head, he continues, “I know. He was mean, and he was supposed to be your new friend. Dad has shit taste in our new friends.”

Felix sniffles.

“I hate him,” he mutters. For some reason Glenn laughs and that fills him with an indescribable anger. “I  _ hate _ him!!!”

“I know, little dude! He sucks!” He squishes up Felix’s cheek which he hates. “Fuck ‘im, am I right? Fuck ‘im!”

“Fuck ‘im!”

“Yeah, fuck ‘im!”

“FUCK ‘IM!”

_ “Language!” _ their father shouts from somewhere outside the room. Laughter bubbles up through his anger and in no time at all Glenn is laughing with him. The dull murmur of conversation returns and Glenn squeezes Felix one more time.

“Feeling better?”

Maybe. He doesn’t know. Felix shakes his head.

“What else is it, little dude?”

His bottom lip trembles. He points to his forearm. Glenn’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Did he hurt you?” he spits, venomous, writing Sylvain’s immediate death sentence. In lieu of words Felix points, yet again, to his forearm. Glenn gently rolls Felix’s sleeve up like he’s expecting a bruise. His eyes widen, and —

He laughs.

“FELIX!” He chokes out. “Felix! Holy fuck!”

_ “Language!!!” _

“Holy — Felix, do you know what you have here? Do you?”

He sniffles. “A stupid soulmark for a stupid soulmate.”

“Listen to me, little dude.” He sets both hands on Felix’s shoulders. He’s so serious. Felix sniffs and otherwise stays silent. “You can get revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Yeah, little dude, revenge.” He rifles a hand through Felix’s hair and grins. It’s infections; Felix can’t hold back his own small smile. “You just gotta say something even meaner. Think you can do that?”

Felix tries to think of something mean to say and comes up blank.

“I know you can do it. Just think of something I would say.” He laughs at his own joke and Felix laughs a little, too. “Take your time and come up with the perfect thing.”

Felix nods.

“Let’s go back out there. Remember, don’t say anything to him until you have the perfect insult.”

Felix allows Glenn to roll his sleeve back down and button his cuff. He refuses to be carried back out and walks himself to the door. The light of the hallway falls over his tearstained face and Glenn’s shit-eating grin. He nods at Sylvain’s I’m sorrys and Do you forgive mes and carefully, thoughtfully doesn’t respond until he comes up with the perfect thing to say.

Through it all, almost burning into his arm, are the words  _ You look like a turnip. _

* * *

The next time the Gautiers come to Fraldarius Sylvain apologizes again.

“It was mean,” he explains, “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”

Felix nods.

* * *

The next time the Gautiers come to Fraldarius Sylvain apologizes again.

“Are you ever gonna talk to me?” he asks in a small voice.

Felix is older now. Seven years older, in fact.

And Glenn has had seven years to encourage this petty revenge.

He shrugs.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

He doesn’t. He’s just petty.

He waves for Sylvain to follow him. He does; hesitantly, but he does. 

Felix leads him up three flights of stairs, down several long hallways, up a ladder, and he’s unlatching a small door to the roof when Sylvain says something again.

“. . . Are you taking me up here to murder me?”

He fixes Sylvain with a glare that could raze entire armies. It does not make Sylvain feel better. He rolls his eyes and points.

_ You. Me. Up. _

Sylvain laughs nervously. “You could, uh, just tell me. I know you can talk.”

He gives him the middle finger.

Sylvain has no witty comeback.

Felix pushes the door open and heaves himself up, climbs out, and sits next to the opening into the attic. From up here he can see the ocean, stretching into a deep, rich blue until it fades into the horizon. If he were to climb to the other side he’d be able to see into town and down the winding road toward Fhirdiad, but if he’s being honest with himself he doesn’t want to leave Sylvain to his own devices.

“Um, what’s up there?”

Felix looks down into Sylvain’s unsure face and huffs. He points.

That startles a laugh out of Sylvain. The edges of his eyes crinkle up when he laughs. Begrudgingly, Felix admits that it’s cute.

“Okay, fine, I’ll play along. Just don’t push me off.”

Felix rolls his eyes. As if that ever crossed his mind. He offers a hand to pull Sylvain up through the door and helps him get situated next to him. Sylvain’s hand stays curled around the doorway like he’s afraid he’ll slip. Felix looks away.

“It’s, uh,” Sylvain chews his tongue while he thinks of the words, “It’s nice up here. It’s quiet.”

Felix nods.

“Do they ever find you up here?”

Felix shakes his head.

“That’s nice. There’s nothing like that at my house.”

Felix huffs noncommittally.

“I never get to be alone,” he continues. He sounds far off, like he’s speaking from another world. Felix confirms that he is, in fact, next to him. “Maybe it sounds stupid, but I wish I had something like this.”

Felix gestures at their asses seated side by side. Sylvain chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

He trails off. Felix closes his eyes and listens to the wind, to the birds overhead, to the distant sound of waves crashing against stones and sand. If he tries he can imagine the soft sounds of the foam crackling as it’s pulled out to sea and the seals shuffling along the shore.

“What’s that?”

Felix opens his eyes. Sylvain’s pointing at a bird flying over the shore. He could tell him it’s a kestrel. He shrugs, instead.

“What about that?”

It’s another kestrel. He shrugs.

“Or that?”

He lightly slaps Sylvain’s arm. Annoying jackass.

He doesn’t miss the way he flinches. He raises his eyebrows.

“Sorry.” Sylvain laughs like it’s some shitty joke. “I just. . . Sorry.”

Felix shakes his head. He has nothing to be sorry for. Not like how he carved the words  _ You look like a turnip _ into Felix’s arm for life.

“I think, um, I think I’d better go.”

To his complete and utter horror Sylvain climbs back down. He doesn’t let Felix see his face. He barely catches himself before he shouts wait! and climbs back down after him.

It seems Sylvain’s fast when he wants to be; he’s out of the attic and down the hall by the time Felix catches sight of his retreating back. Pure, raw spite keeps him from shouting out. He runs to catch up and, conscious of where his hand lands, he rests one on Sylvain’s tall shoulder.

Sylvain jumps at the contact.

“I said I’m sorry,” he breathes. Chokes. Whatever it is, Felix doesn’t like it; he doesn’t like the way Sylvain tenses in on himself, he doesn’t like the spark of fear in his eyes. A fifteen-year-old boy shouldn’t be so timid. So fearful.

Felix thinks this might be more important than Glenn’s idea.

He takes a deep breath in to assure him it’s all okay.

“Lord Fraldarius!”

He stumbles over his own words and all that comes out is a cough. He turns, channeling all the frustration he can. His expression softens when he meets eyes with Miss Mather, his nanny turned tutor turned mother figure after his own mother’s death. She’s distraught.

“Oh, sweetheart, I was hoping you’d be up here.” She’s out of breath. She must have been running. In any case, she runs all the way up to him and takes him firmly by the shoulders. “It’s. . . Oh, sweetheart. We should go somewhere quiet.”

“What?” his own voice feels foreign. The words start slipping out of him. “What happened? What’s going on?”

She pulls him in for a hug. From the edge of his vision he can see Sylvain tense.

“Come, let’s go to your quarters —” in his panic Felix cuts her off.

“No. Tell me. What’s going on.”

She searches him for something, some sign, some tell that this isn’t a good idea. He’s already hyperventilating, spiraling into a panic; he’s never seen her like this. Not when his mother died. Not when her own husband left.

“Lord Fraldarius,” he voice is quiet, almost a whisper. The words shake around her tongue and if words could kill he knows these would crush. “It’s your brother, sweetheart.” His knees go weak. “He. . . Oh, sweetheart, he lost his life in service to the king.”

He falls. Miss Mather barely catches him and eases him down to the floor and he wails and screams and sobs and he feels part of him die with his own unfortunate brother. Things go white and blurry and black and sharp and he feels every stab, every burn his brother felt in his last moments and he feels every ounce of panic at not being able to say goodbye, not being able to share their lives and troubles and joys.

When he comes to he’s in his bedroom sitting at the edge of his bed with Sylvain next to him, holding his hand, soothing him with  _ shushes _ and a cup of herbal tea. He takes a sip. It’s still hot.

“Did that help?” Sylvain whispers. He panics; did he speak? Did he let his brother down.

He tests the waters. He shrugs.

“Try it again,” Sylvain encourages him, “It helps me when I’m hurting.”

He tries it again. It doesn’t help. He doesn’t think anything will help ever again.

* * *

He doesn’t see Sylvain again for two years. He’s squired off. He watches his oldest friend slaughter a small, inexperienced rebellion. He pukes. He wishes he’d said something, anything, to his soulmate. He wishes he knew whether written words would appear on his skin. He wishes Glenn were still around, because if he could get Glenn’s permission, he wouldn’t feel so guilty for feeling so  _ guilty. _

* * *

He gets to Garreg Mach late; Dimitri’s shitty guard slowed him down, refused to let him ride ahead, pissed him off the entire trip.

He slams his door behind himself, shutting out the Boar and taking in the pseudo silence. There’s something comforting in it he wasn’t able to find on the roof at the Fraldarius Estate. Something he’s been chasing. Something —

There’s a knock. He contemplates dying rather than answering.

He jerks his door open. Sylvain grins down at him. Tall fucker.

“Felix! I’m thrilled to see you!” He brings Felix into a hug. Felix, very begrudgingly, accepts. “Are you still mad at me?”

Felix shakes his head no.

“Ah! Excellent. I wanted to run into town, thought I’d invite you along. Grab some food, pick up some girls —”

Felix slams the door shut.

“Let me know if you change your mind!” his voice comes muffled through the door. 

In the solitude of his room, Felix deals with a new emotion he really doesn’t care for.

* * *

“Come on, Felix, I know he’s annoying, but just use your words.”

“I can’t,” Felix spits. Ingrid hangs her head, exhausted.

“Please. I can’t stand this.”

“I. Can’t.”

“Why not?!”

“Because!” He slams his hand down on the table much, much harder than intended. They both flinch. He continues, quieter this time. “Because I can’t. I — you wouldn’t understand.”

She really, really wouldn’t. Ingrid, whose betrothed died four years ago. Ingrid, who never met her soulmate before and is unsure she’ll meet her soulmate after. Ingrid, whose soulmark is an unfortunate Hello, there!

“Maybe not,” she concedes with a heavy sigh, “But maybe I would. Just try.”

He scowls.

* * *

“Wanna spar?”

He whips around, sword in hand, and scowls at the familiar freckled face and chest. Sylvain removes his shirt during training to torture him, specifically. He lifts his sword in agreement.

“Perfect! Care for a wager?”

Felix raises an eyebrow. He thinks he knows where this is going.

“I win, you have to talk to me.” Sylvain smiles innocently like the devil in disguise. Felix rolls his eyes. “Now, tell me, what do you want if you win?”

Sylvain has made something of a game out of trying to tease words out of Felix. He takes it as a challenge. He uses no words and swings at Sylvain, steps out of the way of his lance, and swings again.

He wins. He doesn’t take a prize.

* * *

On the other side of the wooden desk sits Byleth. Her hands are clasped together and she’s looking between Felix and the oaf to his right.

“Communication can be life or death on the battlefield,” she says, emotionless and flat. Felix swallows. Something about her is intimidating. “You must speak to one another. This cannot continue. Someone may die.”

“Believe me, professor, I’ve been trying for years.” Sylvain laughs. It’s a comfortable thing.

“I understand that, Sylvain, but it wasn’t a deadly decision for years.” She sighs and looks straight through Felix’s mask and way, way too deep into his heart. “Felix, you must explain this. You’ve spoken to me, I know you can.”

Felix crosses his arms tightly in front of himself and looks, stubbornly, at his knees.

“Felix.”

“I can’t,” he forces out, very clearly visualizing Byleth and pointedly ignoring Sylvain. The words don’t appear if they’re said in his vicinity, right?

“Why can’t you?” she needles. He looks away, to a very interesting knot in the wooden floor to his left.

“Glenn.”

* * *

“Sylvain told me what you told Professor Byleth.”

Felix doesn’t look up from his homework until Ingrid enters his room and shuts the door behind her. He does a quick sweep and, when he’s confident nobody came in with her, he speaks.

“So?”

“So I don’t know why you can’t tell me, of all people, when it has to do with him.”

He narrows his eyes at her. She’s never gonna let up. Part of him wants to tell her.

“Are you sure you wanna know.”

She kneels in front of him like she expects to be knighted with the knowledge. “Yes.”

“Get off the floor,” he scowls.

She does not get off the floor.

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

“I’m rubber you’re gl —”

“Shut up!” Felix can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Fine, I’ll tell you, but only because you knew him. Just get off the fucking floor.”

Ingrid smirks and sits on the edge of his bed, instead.

“Tell me,” she commands.

He pretends to consider not telling her.

“You promised.”

“I did do that.”

“Felix!”

“Fine.” He turns to face her properly. One hand is on each of his knees to brace himself. “Glenn told me to.”

“What?”

“Glenn told me not to say anything to him until I come up with something really good.”

“. . . What?”

Felix groans. “You beg me to tell you for weeks and you can’t even listen?!”

“Felix, I heard you, I just,” she rubs her temples, “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Fine. Do you know what the first thing Sylvain ever said to me was?”

She looks at him like he’s the stupidest fucker she’s ever seen.

“Well?!”

“No! Of course I don’t know that!”

“Well, Glenn did.”

“So?!”

“So,” Felix glances back at his door. He doesn’t see any shadows underneath the crack. That’s as good as he’s gonna get. He carefully, deliberately folds up the cuff on his right sleeve until his entire soulmark is exposed, and he extends his arm.

Her eyes trace the letters. Her jaw drops.

“He did not.”

“He did.”

“And Glenn. . .?”

“And Glenn.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

She smacks his soulmark.

“Ow!”

“Felix Fraldarius,” she takes a deep breath, “That’s the funniest shit I’ve ever heard.”

* * *

Felix thinks it will be an even bigger disgrace to Glenn’s memory if he breaks after Miklan’s death, or if he says anything related to Miklan at all.

So he sits in Sylvain’s bed, runs his fingers through his hair and against his scalp, and says nothing. Slowly, painfully, and with more anguish than Felix ever wants to see him in, he calms down and they simply lay together.

* * *

“So, Sylvain,” Ingrid says, because she’s a terrible friend, “What will your soulmate think about all this womanizing?”

Sylvain shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Ingrid, to her credit, doesn’t so much as glance at Felix.

“I don’t know, does it?”

He shrugs.

“It’s not like I’d ever get a chance,” he moodily stabs his fork into his food, “So might as well have fun while I can, right?”

Felix doesn’t like that thought. Shit, whatever he says to him must be brutal.

* * *

Byleth is dead. And then she’s not. 

Felix challenges her to a spar. She accepts. He loses. Sylvain laughs.

* * *

“C’mon, buddy, you got more than that.”

He’s right. He does. He doesn’t know why he can’t keep going. He lunges with a shout, aimed at himself, of course, and stumbles face-first into the dirt floor of the training ground. He tries to get up, groans, and falls back down. A warm hand settles onto his shoulders and helps him back up.

“Hey, when’s the last time you slept?”

Felix does not respond. He only looks at the him-shaped indent in the dirt.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

Felix scoffs and stands, stumbles, and is barely caught by Sylvain, who’s clearly suppressing a laugh.

“Come on, let’s go to the dining hall,” he chuckles, “Then you need to get some sleep.”

Sleep. Who has time for sleep? The empire is bearing down on Garreg Mach as they speak and he needs to be prepared. He’ll have time to rest either when the battle is over or when he’s dead.

* * *

The first time really, truly regrets playing to a dead man’s joke is during the siege.

He might die. Like, he might actually die. He might be shot with an arrow, shocked with magic, stabbed in the head, any number of things might kill him to death and he’ll have to tell Glenn he never even came up with something funny to paint on Sylvain’s body for his entire life.

Ugh.

He cuts through, he follows orders, he shouts for healers where needed and defends injured classmates where necessary. Word travels across the battlefield that an incredible beast appeared and Byleth and Rhea disappeared with it. If this army can take down the Professor he doesn’t stand a chance.

“All students retreat!” a knight shouts, his face masked by his helmet. “All students retr —”

He’s hit with a bolt of thunder magic. Felix looks to his left and his right, sees none of his classmates, and runs. He will not be answering to Glenn today.

Mercedes and Annette are far ahead of him; he catches a flash of Annette’s bright orange hair and feels a wave of relief. Claude flies overhead, clutching Marianne and Ignatz both, and Petra follows shortly after. He catches up to Ashe and grabs him by the wrist. Anything to make him move faster. Anything to get everyone out alive.

“Felix! Over there!”

Felix follows Ashe’s pointing hand and sees Sylvain on horseback fighting off several soldiers. He’s carrying Constance, who appears to be unconscious. Felix pushes Ashe forward and runs towards them.

It’s over quickly; knights step between Felix’s blade and the Imperial soldiers and he turns and appraises the situation. Constance is conscious now, at least, apologizing for being a drag while Sylvain exhausts his remaining healing magic. Sylvain helps her down off his horse, makes eye contact with Felix, and smiles, relieved.

This is, of course, the moment Sylvain chooses to get shot.

Felix chokes on his own scream and scrambles forward to where Sylvain landed back-first next to his horse, which is gone. Constance is frozen, terrified, eyes wide staring at the horror she’s sure to believe she brought. Felix falls to his knees and takes Sylvain’s hand.

And he can’t stop himself.

“Wow,” he chokes out. His fingers lightly brush over the arrow sticking out of him. “I’ve never seen an arrow go into someone’s neck like that. Did it pierce your trachea? Can you  _ breathe?” _

_ “Felix!” _

Ingrid lands on Sylvain’s other side and pulls out the remnants of a concoction.

“Hang on, Sylvain,” she instructs, “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”

She beckons Constance over and instructs her to burn off the bulk of the arrow, with only a few inches poking out of the skin. Felix doesn’t let go of his hand through the entire process. His face is wet and his tears are landing on Sylvain’s.

“Just a little longer,” he urges, “Okay?”

Sylvain’s wearing a look he can’t read. Shock? Pain? Fear? He doesn’t know. He wants to know. He doesn’t know. He’s going to ask later. He has to know.

Ingrid, in all her amateur glory, pulls the arrow out of his throat and pours the rest of her concoction directly over it. Sylvain makes a weird sound Felix hates. And then he coughs.

“Help me get him up,” Ingrid commands. Felix follows. They get Sylvain onto her pegasus and she flies. Felix grabs Constance and they run, out of the monastery and towards something in the woods, wherever everyone else has been going.

“Fuck, fuck this, fuck that,” Felix heaves when they finally make it. He leans himself against a tree to catch his breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He sweeps his eyes over the camp; some students are bandaging themselves, some are drinking water, most are crying, and Sylvain —

Felix breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Sylvain is being treated by Mercedes.

“Felix.”

He jumps. It’s just Ingrid. He sighs again.

“What.”

“Go talk to him.”

He rolls his eyes. “No shit.”

“Then do it. Don’t be a coward.”

Ugh. He drags his feet over. Sylvain sits up. He is quickly pushed back down by Mercedes. Felix sits down.

“. . .Sorry,” he says to the ground. He chances a glance up and meets Sylvain’s weak smile.

“Sorry I said you look like a turnip,” he says.

“Glenn told me it would be funny.”

“Oh, it was.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Mercedes deems him good enough and moves on to the next one. All that’s left is an admittedly terrifying bandage wrapped around his neck.

Felix kisses it.

Sylvain sinks his hands into Felix’s hair and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Plot twist: this is a glenn lives au. He thinks this is very funny.
> 
> I’m gonna let you all in on a little secret. I have a longfic planned that I’m posting on the 29th. I have the first three chapters written. I’m dying because I want to post them right now. But I can’t, because I’m stubborn, so instead I’m just shitposting fic left and right
> 
> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/punchyfakegamer)


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